Sally and David

I looked up at the antique clock on the mantlepiece, shit, what time did she leave? I hadn’t even looked at the list. I rushed to the kitchen, knowing it wouldn’t be good for me; at least some of them weren’t completed.

Clean Bathroom, Check done,

Vacuum hall and Stairs, check done

Vacuum and dust the Lounge, Check done

Clean the kitchen, wash and put away dishes. Check Done.

Clean bedroom, I presume she meant the bedroom I slept in, and that’s where I was when she returned. I didn’t hear her come home. I had the vacuum doing its stuff. I turned it off and was coiling the cable up. I jumped when she coughed to get my attention.

She had obviously been to the hairdresser's and probably had her nails done. Her face was freshly made up with subtle touches. Her perfume was strong and intoxicating, sending waves of unwanted arousal through me, causing me to wince as my cock pressed against the cage.

“I’d like to see you downstairs, please, David,” she said, her voice laced with a mix of command and mockery.

I knew it wasn’t a request. I followed her, dropping the vacuum cleaner off in the cupboard under the stairs.

She looked me up and down, a cruel smile playing on her lips, before pointing to her boots. I sighed and knelt to kiss her shoes, determined to play her game until she slipped up.

She left me kissing air again and sat on a kitchen stool. She took a pack of cigarettes out of her bag and lit one up. The sight of her smoking inside the house, a clear violation of my rules, sent a surge of anger through me. She knew it would piss me off, and she was enjoying every moment of it.

She blew out a heavy puff of smoke toward me, and I coughed, the acrid taste filling my lungs. “David, I gave you some instructions this morning. I was easy on you because I know you are struggling a little,” she said, taking another drag and blowing the smoke up into the air. “But these were very manageable, and you should have had time to complete them all with time to spare.”

I looked up at her, trying to find my inner teenager and roll my eyes to the top of my head, a silent act of defiance.

It earned me a slap around the face, the sting of it echoing through my cheek. I clenched my fist beside me and raised up on my knees a little, my body tensing with a mix of rage and humiliation.

“I would be very careful about your next move if I were you, David,” she told me, looking me dead in the eyes, daring me to challenge her.

“I looked at my camera app and saw something very interesting. Instead of doing the straightforward chores I left, you decide to explore. What were you looking for? A way out, a way to escape. Clothes?” Another drag, another billow of smoke.

“There is no escape, David, I thought I’d made that clear. As for clothes, you will have them when I feel fit and not before. Is that understood?”

I ignored her, just held my head down, a silent rebellion. She hopped off the stool, grabbed my hair, and pulled my head back so that she was in my face.

“Is That Understood?” She yelled into my face, her breath hot and demanding.

I nodded, and she let go of my hair, a triumphant smirk on her lips.

“Well, it goes without saying that you will have to be punished. I'm going to go upstairs to have a bath and to change into something more relaxing. While I’m upstairs, I’ll have a think on how to punish you. When I come down, I expect some kind of snack.”

With that, she left to go take her bath, leaving me to stew in my humiliation and anticipation of the punishment to come.

I looked through the fridge and found enough to make a couple of salads. I had no idea she’d take so long having a bath, so I just sat there, twiddling my thumbs, trying to work out a way out of this mess. I couldn’t even try to argue my way out of it; she’s taken that away from me, along with my dignity and freedom.

I heard footsteps on the stairs, then in the hallway. I turned on my chair, and my mouth dropped open at the sight before me. She was the sexiest I’d seen her in a long time, dressed in a deep red satin babydoll that hugged her curves, paired with matching stockings and heels. The pain in my cock returned instantly as it pressed against the cage, a cruel reminder of my arousal and humiliation.

In one hand, she held a small clutch bag; in the other, the crop. She tapped her shoe with the crop and looked me in the eye, a smirk playing on her lips. I knew what I had to do. “God, this is getting old,” I thought to myself as I knelt and kissed her feet, a humiliating act of submission.

“Is that my snack?” She asked, knowing I couldn’t answer, her voice laced with mockery and dominance.

She examined the salad and tutted before sitting down to eat it. I was left on my knees, unsure of what to do next. Eventually, I got up, sat down on the opposite side of the breakfast bar, and started eating the other salad. Neither of us said a word until she had finished her meal. Then she pushed her plate over to me and said, “Clean this up, then meet me in the lounge.” Before leaving me alone in the kitchen, a silent order that left no room for disobedience.

I did as instructed and met her in the lounge. A coffee table had been moved into the center of the room. She was sitting on the other side of it, one leg crossed over the other, her clutch bag resting on the cushion beside her. She was gently tapping the crop against one foot, a menacing rhythm that sent a shiver down my spine.

I stood by, waiting, not sure what was going to happen now, knowing she held all the cards and I was at her mercy. The room was thick with tension, a silent battle of wills that I was destined to lose.

“I’m very disappointed in you, David,” she said, her voice dripping with a mix of mockery and authority, as if addressing a naughty school kid. “I really thought we had an understanding, but it seems I was being naive. Well, I guess that’s my fault for believing that you wanted to change.”

She stood up and picked up the clutch bag, a sinister smile playing on her lips. “Kneel by the coffee table, please,” she commanded, her tone leaving no room for argument.

I just looked at her like an idiot, my mind racing with a mix of fear and defiance. “Now, please, David,” she repeated, her voice a low and dangerous sound.

I did as she ordered, my body moving on autopilot, a puppet to her strings. “Now bend over and stretch your arms out,” she instructed, her voice cold.

She produced two sets of handcuffs from her clutch and deftly handcuffed my arms to the legs of the table, the metal biting into my wrists. Then, with a small coil of black rope, she tied my legs off at the other end, ensuring I was utterly immobilized and at her mercy. The room fell silent, the only sound the heavy breathing of anticipation and the soft tap of the crop against the floor.

She stepped in front of me, and I lifted my head, my eyes meeting hers in a silent, defiant stare. She pulled up her babydoll, her hands roaming over the matching panties, deliberately pushing the satin material inside her pussy to soak up her juices. With a slow, deliberate motion, she slipped them down over her stockings and heels, a cruel tease meant to humiliate and arouse.

She held her panties up to my face, rubbing the soaked material around my nose, the scent of her arousal filling my senses and making me wince. Then, she pressed them to my lips, her intention clear and unmistakable.

“Open up, David,” she commanded, her voice a mix of dominance and mockery.

I held my lips shut, a final act of rebellion, and moved my face away. She stood up, her eyes flashing with anger, and took her crop, slashing it down across my back with a vicious strike. I yelled in surprise as much as pain, the sting of the crop echoing through my body. The reaction triggered the collar sensors, and I writhed against my bonds, my futile, pathetic struggles.

She poured herself a glass of wine and waited, her eyes never leaving me as I calmed down, my body trembling with a mix of fear and humiliation. Once I was subdued, she crouched down by my head again, panties in hand, a cruel smile playing on her lips.

“Do we want to try that again?” she asked, her voice laced with a threat that promised more pain if I disobeyed.

I didn’t answer.

I didn’t have to. She waited until my jaw loosened, until my resistance collapsed under the weight of inevitability. When I finally complied, she smiled—not with satisfaction, but with confirmation.

She patted my head, slow and deliberate, each tap a mocking reminder of my subjugation. “Good,” she said, her voice dripping with a mix of satisfaction and dominance. “You’re learning.”

She walked around me, letting her crop gently slide down my back, the leather a teasing promise of the pain to come. I could feel the goosebumps rising on my skin, a physical response to the fear and humiliation that coursed through me.

“Now, David, after our chat yesterday, I thought we had an understanding. The only way this marriage is going to work is if I take control,” she declared, her tone leaving no room for argument, as if she genuinely believed the twisted narrative she was spinning.

“Oh my God,” I thought to myself, “she actually believes this shit she’s spouting.” My mind raced with a torrent of angry retorts, but they were silenced as she continued her monologue.

“I’ve tried to be patient with you, gone easy on you, but you just throw it back in my face,” she said, her voice laced with a mix of mockery and disappointment.

In my mind, I was yelling at her, a silent scream of defiance and rage. “Two fucking days, bitch, and you’ve done nothing but try and break me, you are fucking crazy.” My thoughts swirled with a barrage of insults and accusations, but they were cut short as I yelled into the panties stuffed in my mouth, the fabric muffling my cries of pain and anger.

The crop came slashing down again and again, each strike a vicious underline to her words, a brutal reinforcement of her control. “You, (slash) will (slash) learn (slash),” she intoned, her voice a cold, unyielding declaration. I don’t know how many times she hit me; the pain was a blur, a relentless onslaught that left my back and ass a canvas of stinging welts.

I was actually glad of the panties stuffed in my mouth, a small mercy in the face of her cruelty. God knows what would have happened if I got to yell between each slash and the sensors on the collar kicked in, the very thought sending a shiver of dread through me as I endured her savage lesson in obedience.

She sat down on the sofa, her movements casual and unhurried, as if she had all the time in the world. I couldn’t see what she was doing, but the smell of cigarette smoke soon wafted through the air, a pungent reminder of her disregard for my presence and her control over the situation. As if that wasn’t bad enough, she actually put her legs on my back and rested, as if she had just had a bad day at work and needed to unwind.

I was falling into some fugue state, my mind trying to cope with the sheer brutality of what had just happened. The pain in my back and ass was a constant, throbbing reminder of her cruelty, and I could feel tears welling up in my eyes, a mix of physical agony and emotional humiliation. I was shivering slightly, a combination of the aftermath of the beating and the cold seeping into my bones.

A phone rang, and my senses came alive again, my ears straining to catch every word of the one-sided conversation. “Hello,” she answered, her voice cheerful and light, a stark contrast to the harshness she had just displayed.

“Oh, hi Mike, how are you?” she continued, her tone friendly and casual, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “No, I haven’t. We had a huge argument, and he stormed off.” Her lies rolled off her tongue with ease, a web of deception spun to maintain her image and control the narrative.

“No, no, well, I was trying to give him time, you know what he can be like.” She chuckled, a sound that sent a wave of anger through me. “Yes, just like a big kid sometimes, ha, ha,” she added, her mockery cutting deep.

“OK, Mike, I’ll let you know. You do the same for me.” Her voice was laced with a fake sweetness that made me want to scream. “Ok, bye. Bye,” she said, ending the call and letting the phone fall onto the sofa with a thud.

“That was Mike, asking after you. That was nice, wasn’t it?” She took a drink of wine, her eyes never leaving me, a cruel smile playing on her lips. “I covered for you, don’t worry. I didn’t want him to know you were my little bitch, and I was teaching you the rights and wrongs of our relationship. I’m not sure he would have understood,” she explained, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

Mike was a mate of mine, and we were meant to go bowling tomorrow. I’m guessing that’s cancelled now, another casualty of her control and manipulation, a stark reminder of the isolation and powerlessness she had inflicted upon me.

She stayed there for a long time, her weight a constant reminder that I wasn’t a person anymore, just something occupying space. The smoke hung low, clinging to the air, seeping into everything. I wondered if it would cling to me too—if I ever got out—like a smell no one else could detect.

“You know,” she said eventually, conversationally, “people don’t notice absence the way they think they will.” She shifted, settling in more comfortably.

“They assume things. They fill in gaps. It’s easier that way.” A pause. “Mike already did.”

I tried to focus on my breathing, on anything solid. My thoughts felt slippery, like they wouldn’t line up properly anymore.

“He didn’t sound worried,” she went on. “Concerned, maybe. But not alarmed. That comes later—if it comes at all.” She laughed softly. “Most of the time, it doesn’t.”

She leaned forward, her voice lowering, becoming intimate in the most unsettling way.

“Tomorrow, he’ll tell himself you needed space. The day after that, he’ll get busy. A week from now, he’ll forget he was ever supposed to meet you. Not because he doesn’t care—because life is very good at distracting people.”

Her heel lifted, then pressed down again, not hard—just enough to remind me she could.

“And when someone finally asks, ‘Have you heard from David?’” she continued, “the answer will be vague. ‘Not recently.’ ‘He’s been quiet.’ ‘You know how he is.’”

She smiled, and I could hear it in her voice.

“Eventually, you become a story people stop telling.”

My stomach twisted. I tried to hold onto something—my job, the weight of a bowling ball in my hand—but they felt thin, unreal. Like props from a life I’d already stepped out of.

She stood at last and walked around into my field of vision. She crouched so we were level, her expression calm, almost kind.

“This is the hardest part,” she said. “When your old world is still close enough to remember, but too far away to touch.”

She tapped my temple lightly.

“Your mind is trying to keep you alive by letting go. That’s normal. Helpful, even.”

She straightened and headed for the door, pausing with her hand on the frame.

“Rest,” she said. “No one is coming tonight. Or tomorrow. Or the day after.”

The lights dimmed—not off, just low enough to blur the edges of the room.

As the door closed, the silence pressed in, thick and complete.

And for the first time, the most frightening thought crept in—not that she was lying…

…but that she might be telling the truth.